A Very Iggy Christmas
by penguinwithapen
Summary: (My first fanfic... so excited! Critique is always welcome!) Poor Iggy's found himself alone (again) on Christmas Eve. (Seriously. Even Flying Mint Bunny got busy) As he is uninvited to America's "stupid" party, and due to his "splendid isolation," he is anticipating just another lonely Christmas... until he gets a dinner invitation from (gulp) Russia, of course. Please enjoy!
1. Christmas Eve

Snowflakes drift gently to the ground as England makes his way silently down the empty streets, clutching a large paper bag in his arms. It is dark, with thick clouds overhead, so the only thing that sheds light on the scene is a streetlamp, which flickers feebly at a corner.  
Shivering slightly, England stops abruptly at the door of his large estate. He waits, expecting a servant to come to his heed, but no one opens the door. 'It's Christmas Eve,' he realizes suddenly, and his mittened hands fumble for the keys in his pocket. 'They are all on vacation, enjoying themselves with family and such...'  
The wooden door creaks open. England steps into his mansion and shuts the door tightly behind him against the cold. Then he turns around, leans against the door, and sighs as he stares off into dark, empty corridors.  
This year, he did not feel the need to decorate...  
"Well," he says at length, shedding his dark red cloak and letting it slip to the floor. "Happy Christmas Eve, England." He slides down to a sitting position, staring up at his slowly swaying crystal chandelier. "I remember better Christmases... but I suppose, with America at his stupid party, and my rather... isolated state... in terms of friends, this is just going to be another lonely Christmas..." Rather ruefully, he turns towards a spot beside him. "Even Mint Bunny is gone, off to visit Alaska's Frost Bunny or whatever... damn it, why do they have to be such good friends? That American jerk..."  
After staring at his chandelier's slow dance for a while longer, England stands and picks up his grocery bag. "I suppose I should get started on dinner; wouldn't want to get hungry during the seasons..." He walks, briskly, down a center hallway, not bothering to turn on any lights.  
Arriving in his kitchen, he finally flips a switch with another sigh, bathing the glorious place in a bright white light. England felt a small smile tugging at his lips. Perhaps it was because, for a reason that was beyond his comprehension, every machine he cooked at broke down, but England's kitchen was stocked with only the finest equipment, only the most beautiful dishes and silverware.  
England puts his bag down on a marble counter and begins to work. He has just placed his creations -supposedly crumpets -onto an oiled pan when, from a small stand in the corner, his phone begins to ring.  
Biting back a curse, he lets the phone ring for a moment, contemplating on whether or not he should ignore it. Cautiously, he walks up to it and -with slight curiosity -peers at the flashing dial for the name of the caller.  
Alfred. England gives an irritated little sigh. Why in the world was America calling him, for heaven's sakes? At this hour? 'To brag about his party, I'll bet,' England finds himself thinking, and his lips tighten. 'I honestly don't want to hear his ridiculous voice right now. I'm not picking up, despite the fact that it breaches common etiquette.'  
To England's relief, the phone eventually stops ringing. But just as he slots his late-night crumpets into the oven, his phone rings again.  
England swipes up the phone. "Damn it, Alfred! Why the hell are you calling me? I'm trying to get dinner done!"  
"Alfred?" says a calm voice from the other line. "I believe you are mistaken. My name is Ivan. And if you were about to cook, I just saved you from a great deal of trouble."  
England freezes, a small shiver run up his spine. "R-Russia?"  
"Hello, Arthur!" Russia says in a deceptively cheerful voice. "You weren't, by any chance, invited to America's Christmas Bash, were you?"  
"Well, actually... no."  
"Good," Russia says happily. "I wasn't invited either. Arthur, I wanted to invite you to dinner."  
"D-dinner?" England stutters, silently freaking out.  
"Yes. I've invited everyone who wasn't invited to America's silly little party. I'm cooking a little bit of everyone's food, so eating won't be a problem."  
"B-but..."  
"_I hope you can come, England_," England pales.  
"O-of course I can come, Ivan..."  
"Good! Please be here in an hour!" There is a small click from the other end. Crumpets forgotten, England begins to hyperventilate as he rushes into his master bedroom to pick out proper attire.  
'Ivan's party... oh god... I wouldn't be surprised if this ends in a World War III…'

Exactly fifty-six minutes later, England rings Russia's doorbell with a trembling hand, clutching a bottle of vodka and a sunflower in the other. He gives a feeble attempt at a smile as the door to the mansion opens, revealing a brightly-lit entrance hall decked with mistletoe... and Russia, in a purple scarf despite the fact that he is indoors. "Dobro pozhalovatʹ! Welcome! Please, come in! Oh, you brought Vodka! Spasibo! And a pretty sunflower! How thoughtful!"  
An extremely traumatized England is ushered into the dining room by an unusually cheerful Russia. Which is not a good sign.  
To his shock, America is sitting at the end of Russia's long, elegant table, hugging something that looked like an albino teddy bear and shakily taking a drink from a small mug. Strangely, he is being completely ignored by the others at the table. Feeling a bit irked, England crashes down into the seat beside the bastard.  
"What are you doing here, America?" England hisses, grabbing Alfred's shoulder. "Not invited to your own party?"  
America sits up with a snap, his cup clattering onto the table. "But... but I'm..."  
"Shut up," England starts, but the drink sitting before America catches his eye. Tea. "Wait, you're not America, Alfred would never drink that..."  
The country gives a nervous laugh. "I'm Canada. Matthew."  
"Sorry, Canadia," England says distractedly, then turns to observe the others at the table.  
As expected, there are not many people there. Either because America has so many friends, or because so many people believed the little message on the invitations that said that something terrible would happen if they didn't attend the party... although England preferred to think the latter.  
Then, suddenly, England started and grew tense, as did two of the three other people at the table. The Axis Powers. "Wh-what are you doing here?" England asks, snapping up in his chair. Italy gives him a huge grin.  
"Ve~ I told America that his hamburgers tasted like cardboard, and that I wanted some yummy pasta instead, but for some reason he got offended and kicked me out! And Doit-su came with me, although his card said something terrible would happen if he left!" With these words, Italy flings an arm over Germany's shoulder, who looks understandably uncomfortable.  
Germany gave England a wary look. "Hello, Arthur," he says in a slow, measured voice. Beside him, Japan stands awkwardly and gives a short bow.  
"It's good to see you, England-san. Please, sit down." England sits down slowly at Japan's words. He notices that a cup of steaming tea has been placed before him on the intricately carved oak table, and he hastily takes a sip. As he does, a smiling Russia takes his place at the head of the table. Everyone gives an inward shudder.  
"It's good to see everybody here," he says, somehow commanding the entire party's attention with his quiet voice. "I don't celebrate any holiday at this time, so I don't usually have visitors... it is a nice change from all the lonely holidays I have had so far, and I'm sure you'd agree, da?" Everyone silently disagrees, but no one dares to say a word. "Now, I would bring out the food, but one of our guests are still missing..." As if on cue, the doorbell rings: a rather discordant melody of chime bells. "There he is now," Russia says happily, stepping to the door, and England can't help but get a slight sense of foreboding...  
The door bursts open, and -to England's dismay -France struts in the door, holding several bottles of wine in his arms. "Ahonhon~ Merry Christmas, Russia! This is a nice change from America's crazy bash, non? Here's a few things of wine." Thrusting the bottles at Russia, France marches into the dining room and, surveying its inhabitants, plops down next to England. "Merry Christmas, Angleterre! Not invited to America's party again this year, I see!"  
"Shut up, you blasted frog," England growls, clenching his fists tightly beneath the table. "What got you here?"  
"Love, what else, mon ami? And I may have seduced one too many girls at Alfred's party..." England makes to stand, hatred written across his face, but Russia's reentrance quickly calms him down.  
"Hello! I'm back. It is time for the food!" Russia smiles and claps for his servants. There is a long silence in the dining hall. Russia's grin flickers slightly. "Oops."  
"Vat do you mean, 'oops?'" Germany demands, looking suddenly anxious. "Vat's happening?"  
Russia shrugs slightly. "Well, I forgot that I gave the trio a break for Christmas, so there really isn't any food... but it's okay because we have various liquors, da?" The relief on the countries' faces is unmistakable. Because when Russia says oops... anything can happen.  
There was a short silence that was broken by Italy's wail: "Ve~ Russia is very scary! But wine is very good! So we will be okay!" With these words he somehow pulls a small goblet out of his pocket (causing everyone to jump and stare) and pours himself some rich, purple wine. Of course, France immediately joins in.  
"Vell, I suppose a little beer can't hurt," Germany decides and, clearing his throat, he reaches for a large bottle of beer that Russia has placed on the table.  
Japan looks rather uncomfortable. "D-do you have any sake, sir?"  
Russia smiles and nods. "Maybe just a few drops." He heads into the kitchen, and comes back with a bucketload of sake.  
"A-arigatou..."  
Someone beside England quietly asks for ginger ale, and England jumps, effectively hitting someone's face with his elbow. "Oh, it's just you, Matthew," he says in relief. "I forgot you were here."  
"Ouch... It's okay... maybe if you try a little harder..." Canada sighs and pours himself and Kumajiro two tiny glasses of ale. "Um, England, aren't you going to get a drink?"  
"Well," England say, slightly flustered, "You see..."  
"Little Angleterre can't hold his whiskey, non?" France butts in, waving his glass of wine with a flourish. "Mon ami is rather wimpy of late!" He then picks up a bottle of beer and begins to wave it teasingly before England's face.  
"Give me that!" Arthur snaps, snatching the bottle and hastily downing it. He wipes his mouth, panting slightly, as his cheeks grow ruddy. "I... I can handle more alcohol than you can for sure, you bloody git!"  
France raises his eyebrows and his glass at once. "Is that a challenge? Then I accept." With these words, he slowly brings his glass to his lips.  
Inwardly, England sighed as he grabbed at another bottle of some liquor. This was most likely going to be a long, long night.

Outside, beyond the Prussian blue curtains that Russia has hung up for the occasion, the snow has been building up, patches of ice reflecting the deep, purple sky as the sun sets on the scene, and the mansion is bathed in an eerie, violet light.  
Germany, who has done away with more than a few bottles of beer, is even more irascible than usual. When an extremely ditzy Italy wraps him in a bear hug, he snaps, "Vat are you doing to a fellow soldier? Get down and do thirty push-ups immediately!" Which a very frightened Italy instantly obeys.  
Japan appears to be completely sober, although he looks very flustered and his cheeks are colored scarlet from the sake.  
France just seems more jovial than usual, boasting loudly as he pours himself another glass of wine. "Now, mon ami~ Drinky drinky! Wouldn't want to lose to Brother France, would you? Drinky drinky, I tell you!"  
England, who is not sure how many glasses he has downed so far, shakes violently as he slumps against the table, resting his head on the cool, oak surface. He is feeling strangely dizzy. "L-leave me alone, you bloody frog..."  
"Alone! But mon ami! You cannot have love alone!" France takes another glass of wine, and an even wilder look enters his eyes. "But if you are tired, I can always take you to bed, Angleterre."  
"N-no..."  
"What do you mean, no? I know you wants it~!" Then, to England's horror, France begins to undo the buttons of his attire.  
"Vat the hell?" Germany jumps France, and both England and France topple onto the floor. "Vhy in the vorld are you doing this? Vat the hell!" France wriggles under Germany's weight.  
"What? Germany? Would you, mon ami, likeys some loooooove too?"  
"Shut up!" Germany immediately begins a well-practiced torture method on France, while both Italy and Japan frantically try to dissuade him. But England cannot pay attention to anything they're saying.  
"Is that you, Flying Mint Bunny?" he finds himself muttering, groping in the air where he saw something blurry and green. "Buuuuuuunny why did you goooooo? I've been miserable here... Gaaaaaaaaaah!" England feels someone shaking him, and looks up groggily. "Whaaaaaat? Who are you?"  
"Please, England-san... please, you are drunk. Let me take you to the sofa so you can get some rest..."  
"SHUTUP! Iknowthatyouplannedasecretpa ctwithRussiawhyelsewouldyoub ehereyoutraitorhaveyoualread yforgottenthedealwemadetoget herhuhyouthoughtIwasstuuuuuu upiddidn'tyouthoughtIwouldn'tfindoutbuthaIdidsoLEAVEMEFR EAKINALONEYOUGIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIT!"  
"England-san!" Japan cries, looking genuinely flustered. "No! None of those things are true! Come on, you are drunk, please, let me take you to the..."  
"I'll handle this~!" France waltzes over to the scene, dragging Germany and Italy behind him. "Oh Angleterre~"  
"Shut up, you bloody FROG! Can't you leave me alone for ONE DAMN MINUTE? SERIOUSLYIAMCONTEMPLATINGANO THER100YEARSOFWARWITHYOUYOUB LOODYPERVERT!" Feeling a strange rush of anger running through him, England tackles France.  
Soon, Russia's mansion is a madhouse.  
As his drunken guests tumble, shout, fight, and destroy things at random, Russia simply stands, watching. For once, his smile has left his face. Slowly, a tear makes its way down his face. "I... I just wanted to have a peaceful Christmas Eve dinner... why is it that everything I do, I always cause... this?"  
Suddenly, the door bursts open.

"Brother~!" Belarus steps in through the door, bringing with her a torrent of snowflakes. "Brother it's Christmas Eve! Let's get married, brother!"  
Russia immediately freaks out. "No! Get away from me!"  
Suddenly, Belarus notices the men fighting in the living room floor. Her eyes glow with a strange anger. "You countries... disturbing dear brother... GET OUT!" With these words, she grabs a gun off the mantle and begins to shoot wildly at anything that moves.  
It clears the house effectively.  
"And now, brother," she says to a shivering Russia. "It's just you and me."  
"Nooooooooooooooooooooooo!"

England is pushed through the door. He attempts to stand, but his foot skids on the ice, and he lands in the ice and snow. Something cracks, and pain shoots up his body, but -in his drunken stupor, he doesn't really notice it.  
He can't see anything but darkness and snow and the strange green blob. Strange, alcohol-induced emotions rush up his body, and suddenly, he can only think one thing. "America, you damned bastard... declaring independence just like that... WELL LOOK AT ME NOW," he mutters, clawing at the ice. But suddenly, he stops, and lets his arm drop down. He feels cold tears run down his face as he drunkenly turns over on his side. He is barely startled when he sees that his mansion, in the distance, is on fire: the scones... "Just let me die here! Let me die here, in the snow..."  
He closes his eyes, and gives himself up to the darkness and cold.  
His body is already numb and he so, so tired... His logical side -or, at least, as much logic as he has left -tells him it is not a good idea to fall asleep in front of Russia's house in the middle of the winter, but he is too tired, perhaps even too drunk to care.  
He feels his consciousness spiral into darkness. And his last thought his on that damned American jerk... His entire body is tingling with cold, so he doesn't notice when someone gently picks him up and let his head rest on their shoulder...


	2. Christmas Day

England wakes up feeling miserable.  
It really can't be heaven, because everything around him is mint green. Although he feels rather groggy, he tries to pull himself up, then winces and falls back down in bed (assuming it was a bed) and the damp towel that has been placed on his head falls on his face. He realizes he can't feel his foot, and upon looking up, he sees that it is suspended in midair by some kind of a makeshift sling, and has been wrapped in a lime green cast.  
England looks around, feeling slightly tense. Who had brought him here? What had made them do so? And why did this room feel so... so familiar?  
A snore suddenly breaks the silence, causing England to jump and wince in pain again. 'What the?' he thinks, grasping his head with both hands. 'Maybe that was a result of the hangover? God, I shouldn't have drunk so much liquor...' But then, another snore, rather louder than before. 'Perhaps it is my captor? But where are these snores coming from?' England begins to search, with only his eyes, of course. The mysterious snores continue, but the source cannot be found.  
Then, finally, he thinks to look down.  
He nearly jumps again when he sees the figure sleeping, shivering, on the ground. America. "America? What the hell are you doing here?" England yelps, but America -who has always been rather a deep sleeper -snores on. England is understandably creeped that Alfred has been sleeping beside him on the floor...  
Then, suddenly, England realizes what room this is. He falls back onto his pillows, breathing hard and lost in his past.

_England is blindfolded, and laughing as a little America yanks on his hand, leading him through the spacious mansion that Alfred has grown to love as his home. "Where are you taking me, Alfie?" England asks, poking America playfully._  
_"You'll see!" America says with a bout of laughter, still tugging. "C'mon! I'll show you!"_  
_After a bit of running, America stops short, and England bumps into him rather hard. "America!" England scolds lightly. "You must be a bit more careful..." Then, with a sudden yank, Alfred pulls Arthur down and pulls off the blindfold. _  
_Before him is a large, magnificent bedroom with a four poster bed and light green walls. England stares for a moment, then eyes the bookshelf on on wall -covered in British classics -with awe. "This is amazing, Alfred! But what is it for?"_  
_America smiles at him. "It's for you. I thought... I thought if you had a bedroom in my house you might come to visit me more..."A small frown appears on Alfred's face as he casts his large blue eyes on the ground._  
_England, rather touched, wraps America in a bear hug. "Thank you," he whispers, running a hand through America's sandy golden hair. "Thank you... I promise I'll visit you more often… thank you..."_  
_And that had been enough to make America smile once more, laughing as he gave his big brother a guided tour of his new room._

"So this is America's house..." England stares down at his snoring ex-brother in slight disbelief. "And he brought me here..." He notices that America still sleeps curled up like he used to, and a sort of warmth fills him.  
After a bit of contemplation, England decides it is about time to wake America up. Reaching down with an arm, he shakes the sleeping nation lightly. "Wake up, Alfred." America snores on. "Alfred... wake up." Still, there is no response. "Alfred, if you don't wake up, I am going to raid Burger King."  
That got America perky.  
"No... please... not Burger King," America groans as he sits up, rubbing the tiredness out of his eyes. "My burgers!" Then he seems to come to his senses. "Oh, England... here, let me help you with the sling..." England can't help but feel slightly awkward as America helps him out of his sling and supports him to the living room, where they both collapse on the couch. "I made some crumpets for you..."  
Alfred gestures at what England can only guess is a vat of oil. "Erm... no thanks." England clears his throat. "Um... America?" America gives him a curious look, and England suddenly realizes something that nearly makes him jump off of the sofa. "America! America! My home! It was burning! My-"  
"Calm down, England," America says, firmly pressing him back down on a cushion. "If your house were cinders, you would have burned up by now. France saw your house burning and sent a bunch of countries to put out the fire… they're repairing your house now."  
"France? That frog? Why would he…" England shakes himself slightly. There are more pressing matters at hand, although the fact that his sworn enemy would save his country and his life is rather…surprising. "Never mind. America, why am I here?"  
America gives him a goofy smile. "Well, for starters, you were bloody and being trampled into the snow by Belarus..."  
"Yes, yes, I know," England says with an impatient wave of his hand. "But my question is, why did you bring me here? Seriously, what do you want from me? I know your economy is pretty bad these days, but this just to get a few euros?"  
America frowns, scooping a soggy crumpet from the vat of oil and chewing on it thoughtfully. "My economy is fine. I don't want anything from you."  
"Then why..."  
America stands. "Do you honestly think I would leave my own brother dying in the snow on Christmas Eve, Arthur?"  
England stares up in shock. "A-America..."  
"Look, you might think I'm some barbarian or something. But just because we've been fighting for centuries doesn't mean that I want you to drop dead, okay? I still remember what it used to be like between us..."  
England gulps as another wave of memories wash over him. "But... we are no longer brothers?" The question lingers in the air. Then America sighs and sits down.  
"We technically are. And it's Christmas, after all... I can't just leave you alone for Christmas..." England stares silently at America who offers him a small smile. "I am the hero, after all. And heroes are supposed to save people, aren't they?"  
There is a long silence. For the first time, England finds himself appreciating the way the sun streamed through the windows, how the curtains billowed as a bit of a cool breeze swept through the living room. Sighing, he turns to his brother. "Merry Christmas, you damn jerk."  
"Merry Christmas."


	3. Epilogue

"Germany-san?"  
Germany turns, still irascible from his hangover, to Japan, who hurries to catch up to him as they trek through the early morning snow. "Germany-san. It's Christmas. 12 o'clock."  
"Ve~ and Santa is going to come soon, I hope!" Italy joins Germany from his left side, grinning.  
"Vell, it has not been a very good Christmas Eve," Germany says quietly, his mood somber. "Hopefully it vill be better on the actual day. By the vay, I don't suppose you two have any plans for this Christmas?"  
"No~!" Italy says, flapping his arms excitedly.  
"I'm not Christian, so I have nothing in particular,' Japan admits.  
"I thought so," Germany says with a certain amount of satisfaction. Then he smiles softly. "Vell, let's head to my place, as usual. I have prepared gifts for you."  
So all three nations heads to Germany's house, Italy jumping up and down with excitement and Japan flustered as he gives his thanks. None of them notice the slight silhouette made in front of the moon of a certain flying sleigh...

Canada sighs in relief as he enters his home, closing the door tightly behind him. "Merry Christmas, Kumajiro," he says quietly to his polar bear, flopping down in his armchair.  
"Who are you?" his pet asks, looking up at the weary nation.  
"I'm Canada!" Feeling a bit irascible, Canada closes his eyes with a sigh. "Why can't my own pet remember me... not to mention my allies, my brother, and... well... pretty much everyone..."  
Kumajiro gives an apologetic shrug. "Well, at least Finland remembered you..." Canada opens his eyes with a start, to see a beribboned bottle of maple syrup underneath his Christmas tree. With a grin, he grabs it, ready for some late-night pancakes, when he notices a small sticky note stuck to its side.  
_**Merry Christmas, Matthew!**_  
_**Even if everyone forgets you, I still think you are sweet and thoughtful... just like maple syrup!**_  
_**Have a good one, Canadia!**_  
-Finland aka. Santa  
Canada smiles happily. It felt nice to be appreciated... for once. Then, with a sudden realization, he rereads the note. Canadia...  
"Oh well,' Canada sighs, heading to his kitchen to fix some pancakes for the two of them. "At least he was close..."

"You know," England says with a small laugh as he stretches on the sofa. "I still remember that day when you wet your bed, Alfred..."  
"SHUTUPDON'TRUINTHEMOMENTWITHYOURINAPRO PRIATEREMINISCES!"

_(Thank you guys for hanging with me for the whole thing! Writing this has been a great experience for me... :) Merry Christmas, everyone!)_


End file.
